


You can't control me

by fallen_for_another_psychopath



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Power Play, Rape, not graphic but does imply bdsm and knife play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2224164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallen_for_another_psychopath/pseuds/fallen_for_another_psychopath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrenaline high from the power. Vomit and blood dripping down his knuckles. Gut heaving from the kick of a fire cracker. Dick tight in an ass so sweet.<br/>Yeah. This was the way Murphy dreamed he'd go down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can't control me

**Author's Note:**

> So I should probably warn you. I suck at titles. If anyone has a better suggestion I'm all ears. *Edit: thought of one myself, go porridge power!*  
> Also I write like a director. I don't describe too graphically, I don't think readers should be spoon fed everything and be allowed to use their imaginations. This should be a collaborative process dammit. (Ok fine. I'm too lazy to describe properly). X

_Adrenaline high from the power. Vomit and blood dripping down his knuckles. Gut heaving from the kick of a fire cracker. Dick tight in an ass so sweet._  
 _Yeah. This was the way Murphy dreamed he'd go down._

  
   
It starts in the drop ship; he's cutting up bits of seat belts with little Blake to make gauzes out of and then he _has_ to make a snide remark, and she _has_ to reply with some humble bullshit that makes him falter. Only for a second though. And then it makes him amused. Shame. And to think she started off with such potential. How ironic that that do-gooder shit appeared as soon as she started boning the grounder. His dick must be huge.  
  


It dawns on him that they are up here alone. Their tasks too menial for anyone to volunteer nor worth Bellamy's time to force anyone to it. Plus it doesn't help that everyone avoids him like he's still infected with the virus. Not Octavia though. She doesn't seem to be affected by his presence at all. So maybe she hadn't turned into a total sop now.

  
A flicker of light makes him blink. He gets struck by the way her hair shines from the handful of rays which manage to sneak into the drop-ship, as she bends forward in concentration.

His arm reaches out to grab a strand forcefully, but then her eyes look up to him harshly and he waves his two fingers down the strand instead gently.

"Sorry. You had a little...dust." Good save Murphy.

"Yeah. This place is full of it. You've even got some on your eyebrow." She smiles.  
  


He cracks. He wants to bottle it all up. Her smile. Her happiness. No one can be happy in this world. It takes shit away from you. It's sick.

He grabs her, shoving his fist in her mouth so she doesn't scream.  
  
She fights. Oh she fights. And it gives him more pleasure that his little Blake kicks and writhes below him. How could he help but come quickly after that show? He always had poor impulse control.

Taking advantage of his momentary vulnerability she shoves him off her back with a strength that shocks both of them.

  
They each scramble to find an object. He finds one first and knocks her to the head.

  
When she comes to she's tied up with seat belts. Pants down. His head in between her legs and she squeezes and grinds her thighs hard around him, but she doesn't realise that Murphy likes the pain. He licks the letter B, and as an afterthought, wonders if he meant that to stand for Bellamy or Blake.  
  
  


Seeing him smile at her struggles, revel in her puke, Octavia clicks on. He's getting off on her fighting and repulsion towards him. She breathes in, because she's about to do the hardest thing she has ever done. Smother her emotions.  
She closes her eyes and lays back, focusing on his tongue.  
 __  
  


"Fuck... Murphy, don't stop." She squirms for good measure. The tongue pauses.

  
What the fuck. She's not supposed to enjoy it. She's supposed to be repulsed at his tongue entering her. At his touching her at all.

  
He shoves off her shirt and bites at her breasts. He gets a squeal, even the arching her chest to be closer to his face. 

  
He loses his temper. "Listen you bitch." He pulls out his knife and teases a line down her arm, drawing blood. She moans. He's lost for words. She's impossible.

  
Impulsively, he kisses her. His lips burn at the ferocity. Tongue furiously laps up the remaining tangy taste in her mouth. His ears are ringing. Heart pounding. How can adrenaline pump for a boring act such as this? It never had before.

  
And then she stabs him in the thigh.

  
He screams. Little Blake's fire hadn't been put out at all. She had played him. He almost feels proud.

  
"You know the sad thing Murphy," she says, as his vision starts to blur.

  
"I was starting to think you were ok.  Even thought you were hot. And hell, I got turned on by some of the shit you were doing to me. But you raped me. You wanted to control me. I've been controlled all my life and you knew. And you still did it anyway. Fuck you."

  
A glimmer of remorse from Murphy-but-not-really later, she swings the knife

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the result of waking up one morning and thinking, I should finally write that Murphtavia rape fic I've been dreaming so much about.


End file.
